I Now Think, Love Is Rather Deaf,

Give Me A Look, Give Me A Face, That Makes Simplicity A Grace Robes Loosely Flowing, Hair As Free Such Sweet Neglect More Taketh Me Than All The Adulteries Of Art: They Strike Mine Eyes, But Not My Heart.

Greatness Of Name, In The Father, Ofttimes Helps Not Forth, But Overwhelms The Son: They Stand Too Near One Another. The Shadow Kills The Growth.

A Good Man Will Avoid The Spot Of Any Sin. The Very Aspersion Is Grievous, Which Makes Him Choose His Way In His Life, As He Would In His Journey.

The Covetous Man Never Has Money. The Prodigal Will Have None Shortly.

Books Are Faithful Repositories, Which May Be Awhile Neglected Or Forgotten, But When They Are Opened Again, Will Again Impart Their Instruction.